It is almost Christmas here in Chicago. In fact, it is technically Christmas Eve. I’m not sure how the rest of the world celebrates, but here in the good old Windy Second City, we pull out all of our Motown records, and we just look at them like they were pretty silverware. The mild winter weather is the perfect landscape to what is potentially a fantastic soundscape. This is how we roll.
What does Christmas mean to me? It’s a time where everything should be communal and shared like a bathroom or a marijuana joint. A time where Jay-Z can rap while the band, and not the actual elements, Earth, Wind & Fire accompanies him. A time where a baby named Jesus is born in some manger in Bethlehem as three wise men approach with strange presents by merely following a star. A time to avoid shopping for two and a half weeks.
The earth shook hard, as the gigantic form of The Giant Dr. Luthor slammed his fiery fist on the fault line. “Fools, you can not stop me. It is far too late.” He laughed heartily.
The Justice Avengers huddled together in a panic, like an American NFL team on the offensive with less than two minutes left and no more time outs. Since the Amazing Superman said, “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he was currently the leader. He hunched forwards and whispered.
Who remembers “The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang” from 1980-82? Not me.
Richard was barely comfortable with his transition into adulthood. First he changed his name. He was now the more mature Richard instead of the very boyish Richie. There had to be something more to the process. It was still unsettling when someone called him Richard. He felt like he was being passive/aggressively berated by his mother, God bless her soul. He swirled his glass of champagne and looked over at his lovely wife, Lori Beth. He raised his glass in such a way, so he could view her distorted features through the bubbly yellow filter. The sight frightened him. He lowered the glass, and spoke instead.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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